The Sharing Of Cigarettes
by MaximumVolume
Summary: They wern't just his this time, and although it was hard to believe, he's had to share them over time.


In the time that accumulated, each and every Straw Hat had tried Sanji's cigarettes at least once.

At first, it was Luffy who was interested in trying them, and Sanji replied with a blunt "hell no." and that was that. If he were completely honest, Sanji was surprised that Luffy was curious about his smoking, and came to the conclusion that the only reason he wanted to know more about them was to find out wether they were edible and if they secretly tasted better than the oder it gave off. Sanji left that conversation where it started, he stopped it abruptly and gave it a quick, merciless death, because Luffy smoking was an odd, ugly picture he wouldn't let his eyes see. Perhaps it was because their idiotic rubber captain was too pure for something like that, maybe it was because Sanji secretly feared that Luffy would get a craving for it, as weird as that sounded, either way, no was no and arguement was futile.

Comforted that Luffy was too much of a simpleton to dwelve further into his unhealthy habit, Sanji put that worry at rest, cradled it in a wooden casket and set it off to sea, never to be seen again. However, Luffy was stubborn, and he pestered Sanji for three consecutive days until the blonde haired cook was tempted to give him such a kick in the abdomen it would make the boy throw up.

"Fine!" Sanji snapped, when they had emerged from yet another victory and were celebrating with a feast fit for kings and a plethora of alcohol. "You wanna try one so badly? Here," he took a cigarette from his breastpocket, set it aflame with his lighter and held it out carefully toward the rubber boy.

Luffy, who was so excited, remained oblivious to everyone's worried look and took it from Sanji delicately. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, was told what to do and he grinned. Luffy did as instructed, but when it came to inhaling, of course, he did it wrong and Sanji gave the boy an irritated look, sitting up straighter in his seat. Luffy's eyes widened and he took the cigarette from his mouth, coughing and gasping as a cloud of smoke and ash billowed around the dark haired boy. Sanji swiped the cigarette from him and crushed it in his silver ash tray while giving the boy several pats on the back.

Nami breezes in, clearing the smoke away and handing Luffy a glass of water. "Breathe, okay? Calm down and breathe. Drink this slowly, alright? That's it.." Sanji nodded, feeling a little guilty that he let Luffy do something he wasn't really prepared for.

"I'm sorry," Luffy shook his head, took several more gulps of water and regained his composure, he turned back into his excitable, goofy self.

"Shishishi, it's okay! That was intense!" His laughter calmed them all, Nami sighed and Zoro let his shoulders relax significantly from his position next to her, he took a swig of his drink and was silent.

"That looked terrible, how do you do it, Sanji?" Usopp asked and Sanji turned to him, a grin spreading across his face. His initial worry was smoothed out like wrinkles from a shirt and he leaned back in his chair, cool and collected as ever.  
"Years of practice."

From then on, everyone was curious.

It somewhat annoyed the cook, because after seeing the fiasco with Luffy, why the hell would any of them want to try it themselves? It was Usopp who wanted to know next, and he came to Sanji in the afternoon, when orange and yellow were vibrant in the sky and set the kitchen in a marvelous, nostalgic light. Sanji let him try it, he threw caution to the wind and gave a 'what the hell' to the whole situation. Usopp was calm and careful, although he had a bit of trouble, two coughs and he was fine. It was then did Usopp tell Sanji that his father used to smoke, and he just wanted to see what the hype was all about. Sanji watched Usopp with amusement, because he was slow and careful and just a little hesitant. When he took one drag and exhaled, he gave Sanji a look from the corners of his eyes and said,

"This is disgusting."

Sanji threw his head back and laughed in the setting sun.

Nami was a different matter, she was polite and beautiful and magnificent, why would she want to try something like smoking?

It was Zoro who posed the question and it was said during the day. "Don't you sing, Nami? Won't it ruin your voice?" Nami turned around to face him so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, she gave him a look full of surprise and embarrassment because how did _he_ know that? Sanji was about to kick that stupid Marimo through the kitchen wall for saying such a thing, mainly because he wasn't previously aware that Nami had such a talent, and tried to persuade her out of it.

"Really, Nami-swan," he told her for what seemed like the umpteenth time. "You wouldn't like this. I don't want you to-"

She gave him a look, the one that meant business, the one that promised hellfire and brimstone if her commands wern't met. Reluctantly, he lit one for her and she took it from him gently with her delicate, long fingers. Watching Nami smoke was something different altogether, because she did it slow and practiced, she looked like a movie star, with her hair glowing, bright and full and wild in the sun, red lips perfect and smooth around the tobacco stick. She sat there in her dress, legs crossed, brown eyes shining and movements graceful. Her eyes seemed to glaze over a bit, and Sanji wonders if she indulged in this habit when alcohol wasn't available, when she worked under Arlong. She was something from a picture, from an art piece with a sketchy title. It was beautiful and flawless and sexy and Sanji took a large swallow, although his throat was dry like sandpaper. The smoke engulfed the redhead and she gave a small laugh that was like wind chimes and she was a godess in his eyes.

Zoro comes to him late at night, not really wanting a cigarette, he just wanted a drink. He entered the kitchen and sat down immediately, arms bandaged and bruised. Sanji, who liked to sit in the kitchen into the wee hours of the night, could sense the tension rolling off the swordsman in waves. It threatened to fill the small kitchen and drown them both in its icy, black waters. Sanji sighs, stands, grabs a beer from the fridge and slams it down in front of Zoro, along with one cigarette and his was alien on his part, but he couldn't care less at this point.

He walks out then, because the swordsman could do this on his own, and the words he wanted to say were lodged in his throat. Sanji didn't mind.

Actions did the talking when it came to Zoro and him.

Sanji had to share his cigarettes. The moments were sporadic when he did so, and the exchanges were made only in important situations, like when Nami was stressed from her map making or drank too much in the shadows of night, trying to bury demons, or when Luffy awoke with a call of a name twisted in agony and his nightmares seemed to eat him up from the inside. He gave one to Usopp when doubt started to creep into the sharp shooter's mind, and he even gave one to Zoro, although that was a rarity, when a fight got especially bad and the fear of someone dying became too great. They smoked when they celebrated, underneath a blanket of stars and they laughed and shared stories and they would pile into Nami's room, or she would come to them, and they would all fall asleep with cigarette smoke filling up their noses, and it didn't smell so bad after all.

Sanji watches them all one day and grips his lighter tight in his hands, wanting to cherish this sudden, overwhelming feeling swirling in his chest.


End file.
